Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle

by Tim Downs

“Nick, who are you kidding? Have you got a sidearm? Could you hit anything with it if you did? I want to post a couple of agents up there— I can have them out here in the morning. C’mon, it’s for her own good—no arguments this time.”

  “Okay,” Nick said. “She won’t like it, but I’ll let her know.”

  “That’s an amazing dog she’s got there. Tell her thanks on behalf of the Bureau, will you?”

  “I will.”

  “You know, I never got to ask you: How did you find this graveyard in the first place?”

  Nick hesitated. “I did a little digging in the library. I ran across some historical references to a graveyard by a lake shaped like a dog’s leg.”

  “Clever. Did you come up with that all by yourself ?”

  Nick blinked. “You pulled my cell phone records, didn’t you?”

  Danny looked at his PDA. “Carlyn Shaw—master’s candidate in Economic History at the University of Virginia. Did you know she graduated from high school second in a class of 698? That’s one smart cookie.”

  “Now aren’t you the clever one. Actually, I’m glad you mentioned her—I’ve been meaning to give you this.” Nick took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Danny.

  “What’s this?”

  “A payment requisition—I promised her thirty bucks an hour. Believe me, it was a bargain.”

  Danny looked at the sheet and nodded. “Okay, I’ll put this through— she earned it. So tell me: Were you planning on sharing this information with me or just keeping it to yourself and sticking me with the check?”

  “I wasn’t ‘keeping it to myself ’—it just wasn’t relevant anymore. You’ve got the graveyard; does it really matter how I found out about it?”

  “Is there anything else I should know about, Nick? While it’s still relevant, I mean.”

  “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “Who was that on the phone just now?”

  “Why ask me? You’ve got my phone records.”

  “That’s right, I do.” He checked his PDA again. “What a coincidence— Carlyn Shaw at the University of Virginia. What did she want?”

  “She wants a check from you. I told her it was in the mail, so put a rush on it, will you?”

  “Anything else?”

  “Tell the Bureau if they’ve got any sense they’ll get down to Charlottesville and hire that woman—they could use people like her. Throw some money at her; she’s probably up to her neck in student loans, and she won’t pay them off with a history degree.”

  “Thanks for the advice—I’ll pass it on. What are your plans this evening?”

  “Why? Do you want to hang out with me?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I’m planning to stick close to Alena. We haven’t found this guy yet—and I have a feeling he’ll be looking for her.”

  Two hours later Carlyn heard a knock at her apartment door. She shut off the water in the kitchen sink and shouted, “Who is it?”

  There was no answer.

  She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked to the door. “Who’s there?”

  There was a second knock.

  She looked through the peephole and didn’t recognize the sandy-haired man in the dark suit standing on her porch. She checked to see that the chain was securely fastened before she reached for the doorknob; as an additional precaution, she braced the door with her right foot.

  She opened the door until the chain went taut. “Yes?”

  “Carlyn Shaw?”

  She hesitated. “I’m her roommate.”

  “Have you been roommates long?”

  “Why?”

  The man smiled. “I’ve always heard that people start to look alike when they live together. It must be true—you could be her twin.” He held up a copy of her driver’s license and showed her the photo.

  “Okay, so you know who I am. Who are you?”

  “My name is Daniel Flanagan.” He held up his FBI credentials. “I don’t like to shout it through a door—it makes the neighbors nervous.”

  She checked his credentials and looked at him. “You look pretty young to be an FBI agent.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a junior G-man. Want to see my whistle?”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass. What do you want?”

  “I’d like to talk to you for a moment. May I come in?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Look, I really am an FBI agent.”

  “I know what you are, Mr. Flanagan—I just don’t know who you are.”

  “Good answer. Do you know a Dr. Nicholas Polchak?”

  Again, no answer.

  “Maybe I should ask your roommate.”

  “I know Nick. You already know that—otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Well, I’m Nick’s boss. Nick works for me.”

  She looked doubtful.

  “We’re excavating a graveyard at the Patriot Center. I’m the special agent in charge. Nick is a forensic entomologist we hired to help with the investigation. He’s a tall man with big funny glasses—a real wise guy. Does any of this sound familiar?”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want to know what you’ve told Nick.”

  “You’re his boss—why don’t you ask him?”

  Danny let out a sigh. “Look, Nick is a real smart guy, but he doesn’t play well with others. We hired him to help us with this investigation, but he likes to run his own show—he likes to play games. So he hired you, but he doesn’t always fill me in on what you’ve told him. That’s all I want, Ms. Shaw—I just want to know what you’ve told Nick. If I’m going to resolve this case, I need to know what Nick knows.”

  She considered his words.

  “I know you spoke with him on his cell phone just this afternoon. May I ask what you discussed?”

  “Ask Nick.”

  “I did—he told me you called to ask about payment. Was that the entire purpose for your call?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Danny was losing patience. “Look, I don’t blame you for being cautious— given the circumstances, I would be too. But I’m Nick’s boss, so you don’t really work for Nick—you work for me.” He took a piece of paper from his breast pocket and showed it to her. “See this? It’s a requisition for payment—your payment. Nick gave it to me this afternoon and asked me to put it through.”

  She looked at it. “He said it was in the mail.”

  “Well it’s not—not until I sign off on it. I’m the boss, so I pay the bills. And if I’m paying you for services rendered, then I think I’m entitled to benefit from those services, don’t you? I’m not trying to twist your arm here, but fair is fair. Nick isn’t paying you—I am. So would you mind telling me what I’m paying you for?”

  She paused for a few seconds, then unlatched the chain and slowly opened the door. “What do you want to know?”

  “Take it from the beginning,” he said. “Just tell me what you told him—and don’t leave anything out.”

  33

  Nick knocked quietly on the door frame. “Gunner?”

  There was no answer from the darkened room.

  He knocked again—a steady, insistent rap like the dripping of a faucet. “I know you’re in there, I can hear you breathing. It’s me—Nick. I need to talk to you.”

  Nick heard the rustling of fabric, and then a lamp switched on.

  Gunner sat up in bed and squinted against the light. “Nick—what are you doing here?”

  “You said if I ever needed to talk I could stop by.”

  “I didn’t mean in my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

  “You should have been more specific.” Nick pointed to a lump in the bed beside Gunner. “Is that your wife?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Charming woman. Can we talk?”

  Gunner looked at the clock beside the bed. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

  “At NC State the kids are just waking up now.”

  “Well
, we’re not kids and this isn’t NC State. How did you find out where I live?”

  “It’s a small town—I just asked the first guy I saw. They told me you were just up the hill from the church.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “The front door was unlocked.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can walk right in.”

  “I knocked, but no one answered.”

  “That’s because we were asleep.”

  Nick shrugged. “Not anymore.”

  At that point the lump in the bed began to stir. “Gunner, roll over— you’re talking in your sleep again.”

  Gunner placed one hand on the lump and gently shook. “We have a visitor, Rose.”

  The woman jerked the sheet up to her neck and scooted against the headboard like a squirrel backing off hot pavement. Nick immediately took off his glasses—a precaution he had learned to take long ago when approaching the very young or the very nervous, and this woman was definitely in the second category. It was probably unnerving enough for her to find a strange man standing in her bedroom at eleven o’clock at night—it might be better if the stranger wasn’t ogling her with eyes the size of softballs.

  “Rose, I’d like you to meet Dr. Nick Polchak. Nick, this is Rose.”

  Nick began to extend his hand and cross the room, but quickly thought better of it. He was blind without his glasses, and he imagined himself stumbling into a dresser or nightstand—or even worse, onto the bed.

  Rose looked at her husband. “Are you sick? Did you send for a doctor?”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor,” Nick said. “I’m a forensic entomologist. I study the insects that inhabit—”

  “Nick. Don’t. ”

  He stopped. “I’m a college professor.”

  “Nick is a friend of Alena’s,” Gunner said. “I told you about him— he’s the one who went up there with me last night.”

  Rose tossed the covers aside and reached for her robe. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you boys want coffee?”

  “Thanks,” Nick said. “That would be great.” When Rose slipped by him in the doorway he said, “Sorry for the intrusion, Rose.”

  She patted him on the arm. “One man in my bed and another one waiting at the door—it’s just another night at the Wendorf house. Relax, Nick—any friend of Alena’s is a friend of ours. You boys talk—I’ll get the coffee.”

  Nick slipped his glasses back on and looked at Gunner. “I like her.”

  “Me too. What’s on your mind?”

  “I want you to help me break into the library.”

  “What?”

  “Will you do it?”

  “Why would you want to break into the library? Agnes can let us in tomorrow morning.”

  “This can’t wait until tomorrow—and I don’t want Agnes to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “She lied to me, Gunner. I asked her for grave registries for the area around Endor, and she told me they weren’t there. I happen to know they are—I just found out this afternoon.”

  “Maybe she was just mistaken.”

  “I asked her to double-check. She said she knows every book in the library, and after fifty years as head librarian I’m sure she does. It was no mistake, Gunner—she was lying.”

  “But why would Agnes lie?”

  “There’s something she doesn’t want me to know.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I need to find out. Your church is right across the street from the library—that makes you next-door neighbors. Endor is a small town; I figured there’s a pretty good chance you have a key.”

  “You’re asking me to unlock the door and let you in?”

  “That isn’t necessary. You could just loan me the key—and a flashlight if you have one handy.”

  Gunner looked at his watch. “The library closed two hours ago.”

  “The place is dark. No one would see me come or go.”

  “Do you have a warrant? Is this against the law?”

  “No, I don’t have a warrant, and yes, this is against the law. Look, I’m one of the good guys—I may be bending the law a little, but it’s for a good cause. I need your help, Gunner. You don’t have to be directly involved if you don’t want to—just give me the key and look the other way.”

  Nick held out his hand.

  He approached the front door of the library, sticking close to the hedge to blend into the shadows. He peered through the glass; the library was dark except for a faint glow of light from one small room. He put one hand on the glass and felt it give a little; he tested the door and found it unlocked. That was easy, he thought. Life in a small town—must be nice.

  He slipped through the door and carefully closed it behind him, though he wasn’t sure why; he probably could have left it wide open and no one in Endor would have raised an eyebrow. Still, there was no sense advertising his presence—this was breaking and entering after all, and people who represent the law aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing.

  He listened but heard no sound; he switched on the flashlight but kept the beam low to prevent it from being seen by anyone passing by on the street. He shined the beam along the base of the walls, searching for the card catalog—if the grave registries were still in the library, that would be the first place to look. It was an older public library, and he knew the library’s collection wasn’t likely to be online yet. That was a good thing—that meant he wouldn’t have to boot up a computer and fill the room with a monitor’s glow. Halfway along the far wall he found it—an old wooden card catalog lined with row after row of little square drawers, each with its own alphabetical identifier in a tiny brass frame.

  Why would the old woman lie? he kept thinking. What’s she trying to protect—or who? Carlyn said she couldn’t find the same records at the University of Virginia, even in their historical collections; she said the books had been taken from the shelves. Was Agnes responsible for that? Would she really go that far? If so, would she leave the grave registries on the shelves here in Endor and risk someone stumbling across them? That made no sense—she would have destroyed them, and she would have pulled the cards from the catalog too.

  Suddenly his whole idea seemed doubtful; what he probably needed to do was to find Agnes and press her until she admitted the reason for her lie. But he had no way to apply leverage to the old woman—if she was determined to keep her little secret she could do it. Besides, there was no sense second-guessing himself now—he had come this far, and he might as well have a look while he was here.

  Halfway to the card catalog he crossed the open doorway of a dimly lit room. He stopped and looked inside; the glow emanated from a half-dimmed light focused on a table in the center of the room. He stepped into the room and shined his flashlight along the walls, illuminating the hundreds of photos and magazine covers of Victoria Braden that covered the room like confetti. He looked at the table in the center of the room and saw a large old book with a leather cover. He stepped to the table and took a closer look; it wasn’t a book at all—it was an album or scrapbook of some kind, and the table was covered with loose photographs, newspaper clippings, scissors, and glue. He picked up one of the clippings and read the headline: “Victoria Braden Comes Home.” He turned the scrapbook back to the very first page, then bent over the table and began to read.

  Minutes passed.

  “Unbelievable,” he whispered. “So that’s what this is all about.”

  He flipped the pages back and forth, studying every photograph and notation. He was so absorbed in the text that he never heard the footsteps slowly approaching from behind; he never heard the thick feet plant themselves solidly in a wide stance; he never heard the muscular hands tighten their grip on the baseball bat and slowly raise it overhead; and he never heard the flat, crunching thud of the wood as it crushed the back of his skull.

  His lifeless body slumped forward on top of the scrapbook. A powerful pair of hands gripped his collar and pulled him off the table and
onto the floor, then began to slowly drag his body across the smooth linoleum toward the loading dock.

  “I’m getting too old for all this digging,” Agnes groaned.

  Nick and Gunner crossed the street and approached the library from behind. They kept the flashlight off to avoid being spotted.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Gunner whispered.

  “You didn’t have to come—all you had to do was give me the key.”

  “And when you got caught, how would you explain the key? I agreed to this, so I’m part of it—I might as well come along.”

  “Kind of fun, isn’t it?”

  “Pastors aren’t supposed to do this kind of thing.”

  “What, support the law?”

  “I thought we were breaking the law.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  As they neared the loading dock they suddenly saw the outline of a figure moving in the shadows. Nick held out a hand and both men stopped. He put one finger to his lips; they moved closer to the building and crept forward. As they got closer they could make out two figures— one dragging the other across the loading dock toward a waiting pickup truck. Nick switched on the flashlight and pointed it at the face of the standing figure; a pair of startled eyes stared back.

  Nick slowly lowered the beam of the flashlight, following the line of her stumplike arms to her blunt gnarled fingers clenching the jacket collar of a man’s body. He saw the head slumped forward and the tangle of hair damp with blood; he saw the shoulders shrugged high and the arms hanging limp at the sides; he saw the legs dragging loose and lifeless; and he saw a smear of blood marking a trail back to the library door.

  Gunner’s mouth dropped open. “Agnes—what in heaven’s name have you done?”

  34

  The dogs heard Nick’s car approaching before Alena did. Those in the kennels lined up along the chain-link fences and began to bark viciously; inside the trailer, Ruckus bounded off the sofa and began to scratch at the door.

  Alena opened the door and stepped out. She looked toward the opening in the woods and waited; a few seconds later she saw the flicker of headlights filtering through the trees, and then Nick’s car emerged with its three-dog escort trotting alongside.